


Every sense ensnared

by Chysack



Series: every tear in the sky will die [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bleeding Effect, Gen, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, but Desmond doesn't really care, loosing sense of reality, of course, still kind of angry at how Shaun was talking to Desmond during this game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:02:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27631766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chysack/pseuds/Chysack
Summary: He's counting stars on the ceiling.
Series: every tear in the sky will die [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017274
Comments: 6
Kudos: 37





	Every sense ensnared

It feels like he is spending even more time in the Animus than when he was kidnapped by Abstergo. At least there he got out to sleep, and Lucy insisted on the odd break from time to time. At least, there, he could see the real sky whenever he disconnected.   
Things haven't really changed much since they fled to meet up with Rebeca and Shaun, not for him. He's not in Masyaf anymore when he goes under, yes, and discovering Ezio's life has been one heartbreak and a half all on its own, but he still feels trapped. _Is_ trapped. He can't go out, can't simply rip posters of his face off the walls to regain his freedom of movement: no one is aware of his disappearance except people who could track him down in a heartbeat. The very real possibility that he is going mad is not helping. The darkness becomes his vision for brief laps of time and he breaths, trembling, counting, slowly. _1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6..._

Thirty, she said thirty. No worries. He's not mad, not yet, no matter that he begins counting stars on the concrete ceiling. No matter that he sometimes finds it comforting, to be able to piece together nights and days, as false as they probably are. It's that or staying in the Animus longer to escape this new prison and he doesn't want to think about how much he wants to go back in, to feel Ezio's grief and anger and, in some precious occasions, his happiness. Ezio feels so much more than Desmond and Altaïr. He doesn't know if it's due to the different animus or the differences in character. Altaïr felt _strongly_ , but his range was... Limited. Simple. One or two predominant feelings swallowing down everything else, drowning them in its current, speeding up the pace of their life to match them. Desmond himself is more laid back -or apathetic, if one does not feel like being nice about it.  
Ezio... Ezio is _something else._  
And yet those are Masyaf stones he sees shining under the electric lights of the building. _7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12..._

Thirty, only thirty. God he's so scared. Shaun sneers and Desmond and Rebeca laugh at him, but Desmond does not linger anymore. He knows that Shaun does not realize exactly what is happening. Or maybe he does, and this is an effort to act as if everything is alright. Or maybe he does, and does not care. It's hard to say. His new colleague isn't the easiest person to get a read on, and Ezio is of little help, between cultural differences and the situation's particularities.  
One time he spends the night in the Animus. Doesn't remember how he convinced them to let him. Maybe they haven't realized either, it's not like he's keeping them informed in regard to his always longer hallucinations.  
He spends his time on the top of the Monteriggioni villa, admiring the fake sky, scratching at the stuff stars are made off.  
It's still there when he opens his real eyes, laid out in front of him. _13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18..._

The visual hallucinations have been going on for a while when the sounds begin to come out to play. A voice calls him and he turns towards the empty corridor. Horse's shoes on paved path make him reflectively step aside. Echoes of long gone banter make him smile fleetingly. It's unnerving for the others, he knows. Not much to do about it, however. He keeps counting. Leonardo likes to talk so much, he's not even sure he would interrupt if he could. _19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24..._

Once the sounds are out, it takes comparatively less time for the other sensations to join them. They are easy to forget. Leather on his hands _(25, 26...)_ , warmth of the sun on his skin _(27, 28...)_ , taste and drenching cold of the river leaving him with the feeling that he is soaking wet for _(29...)_ far too long.  
And then, of course, the memories in all their glory, real in ways the Animus would probably never be able to render.

He stops counting after _thirty_.  
It doesn't seem like there would be much point.


End file.
